Camilla.—Child, child, you would willingly deceive yourself. But be assured that a girl who loves ever connects, perhaps unconsciously, the wish for an eternal union with the idea of eternal affection. Now this is a wish which you cannot indulge in regard to Flodoardo without seriously offending your uncle, who, good man as he is, must still submit to the severe control of politics and etiquette.
Rosabella.—I know all that, Camilla, but can I not make you comprehend that I am not in love with Flodoardo, and do not mean to be in love with him, and that love has nothing at all to do in the business? I repeat to you, what I feel for him is nothing but sincere and fervent friendship; and surely Flodoardo deserves that I should feel that sentiment for him. Deserves it, said I? Oh, what does Flodoardo not deserve?
Camilla.—Ay, ay, friendship, indeed, and love. Oh, Rosabella, you know not how often these deceivers borrow each other’s mask to ensnare the hearts of unsuspecting maidens. You know not how often love finds admission, when wrapped in friendship’s cloak, into that bosom, which, had he approached under his own appearance, would have been closed against him for ever. In short, my child, reflect how much you owe to your uncle; reflect how much uneasiness this inclination would cost him; and sacrifice to duty what at present is a mere caprice, but which, if encouraged, might make too deep an impression on your heart to be afterwards removed by your best efforts.
Rosabella.—You say right, Camilla. I really believe myself that my prepossession in Flodoardo’s favour is merely an accidental fancy, of which I shall easily get the better. No, no; I am not in love with Flodoardo—of that you may rest assured. I even think that I rather feel an antipathy towards him, since you have shown me the possibility of his making me prove a cause of uneasiness to my kind, my excellent uncle.
Camilla (smiling).—Are your sentiments of duty and gratitude so very strong?
Rosabella.—Oh, that they are, Camilla; and so you will say yourself hereafter. This disagreeable Flodoardo—to give me so much vexation! I wish he had never come to Venice. I declare I do not like him at all.
Camilla.—No—what! Not like Flodoardo?
Rosabella (casting down her eyes).—No, not at all. Not that I wish him ill, either, for you know, Camilla, there’s no reason why I should hate this poor Flodoardo!
Camilla.—Well, we will resume this subject when I return. I have business, and the gondola waits for me. Farewell, my child; and do not lay aside your resolution as hastily as you took it up.
Camilla departed, and Rosabella remained melancholy and uncertain. She built castles in the air, and destroyed them as soon as built. She formed wishes, and condemned herself for having formed them. She looked round her frequently in search of something, but dared not confess to herself what it was of which she was in search.